All Star Western: Welcome to my Nightmare
by Jon Repesh
Summary: Jonah Hex is in Gotham City to track a crazy killer. Sound familiar?


Life is strange. It's amazing how obligations and circumstances can rapidly change. Just a few months past renowned bounty hunter Jonah Hex was tracking despicable desperados in the expanse of the Wild Wild West, routinely encountering animals of the four legged variety in his precarious pursuits. Now fast forward one persuasive telegram later and here he is in gargantuan Gotham City, teeming with animals of the two legged variety, enlisted by the police in the search of a killer. Talk about a fish out of water. While he has trailed numerous killers before, the whys and wherefores being strikingly diverse, he has rarely worked in unison with law officials, preferring to ply his trade alone. It's been years since he's seen an eastern metropolitan area, that brief sojourn occurring shortly after the war. It's certainly a different milieu than he's accustomed, a town so vast it's growing both horizontally and vertically, crowded by untold buildings multiple stories high plus hotels offering hundreds of rooms. It is indeed a massive city, though one with massive problems. The one pertinent to Hex being the killer, an animal more vile than any he's previously confronted, arising from its claustrophobic confines and mean streets themselves.

There is little breathing room anywhere within the downtown district, a suffocating setting requiring constant awareness of your surroundings. The vermin here are legion, with the city itself being the uncanny incubator. He had heard strange tales recounting Gotham as a living, breathing entity, and now understands first hand how the myth evolved. The fear is palpable, a pervasive aura hanging heavily over the city. No wonder it's birthed some of the most crazed and shockingly eccentric scoundrels in the country, already establishing a stern reputation for that very fact. Things are only getting worse, to the inclusion of a new concept in lawbreaking, organized crime. Hex witnessed its genesis at some of the western gambling halls he frequented, with their copious confederates and explorations into all manner of illegal activity. Another recent development is the trafficking of illicit drugs. He had often been exposed to peyote and cannabis in his liaisons with Indians and occasional contact with opiates, but not to this extent. Fuse that with a frantic population of two hundred thousand and you have the ember of an inferno.

Hex's familiarity with common outlaws and their rural environment provided him a considerable edge out West, playing a substantial role in his triumphant affairs. Gotham however is an entirely different concern, thus requiring the cooperation of the local police, a situation that exasperates him endlessly. If that wasn't frustrating enough there's a distinctly new twist, the imposed involvement of criminal psychologist Amadeus Arkham, exacting an even tighter straitjacket about him. While Hex is no stranger to probing the mental processes of his prey, this heightened tactic is well beyond his coarse and unschooled approach. Alas all his protestations to the contrary will not matter. Dr. Arkham is along for the duration.

"Mr. Hex, I realize my involvement in these affairs is foreign to you, no disrespect intended, but the commissioner himself requested my assistance, so hopefully our specialized union can prove both accommodating and beneficial."

"**I have nothing against you personally Doctor. While on the surface I may appear a simple man with simple methods, my singlehanded results speak for themselves. You'd be surprised how often others do more harm than good."**

"I assure you, I have no intention of impeding your progress and don't for a moment fancy myself a physical man or hero. My expertise lies in cerebral realms and at that I am most proficient. You have little to lose by listening to my input."

"**That learned talk is all fine and dandy, but when my life is on the line, I rely on my instincts. Unfortunately time is critical. The three days it took to get here has me already on my heels. Four people are dead at the hands of this bastard, and I intend to make it no more."**

"On that we most assuredly agree. One reason I was recruited was not just the extent of the killings but the brutality involved in them, giving the impression of a perverse pleasure engaged by the perpetrator. I have worked with disturbed people before and patterns are discerned."

"**I'm well aware of patterns, Doctor. Whether by country boy or city slicker, people behave in like ways. What about this brutality you mentioned?"**

"It appears the victims were inflicted by severe pain before their deaths, as agonized grimaces were affixed to their faces. A quick examination of the bodies revealed no wounds or trauma, leading to the possibility of a drug or poison being used. Unfortunately its determination will not be easy and will take time, as the science of toxicology is still in its infancy."

"**I've seen intense fear on the faces of men in life and death situations. Heart attacks maybe?"**

"One person, quite possibly. Four people, three of which were young and healthy, highly unlikely. Too coincidental, and I don't believe in coincidences."

"**Neither do I. Who were these people? Were they related in any way?"**

"At this point the police have not found any connections. This is a big town with many arriving every day. This too will take time."

"**Then it's up to you and I, Doctor, and why I was called. We're partners now, and make no mistake, either through your know how or my stubbornness, we will find this man. Right now I need to check into my hotel. We can meet for a steak and a few drinks later if you'd like. You do drink, don't you?" **

"I do indeed, and I know just the place."

The fine doctor is not the only one able to size up an individual. Hex is astute at picking up personal traits and tendencies, already noticing nervous mannerisms in Arkham. Not the kind of man you'd want beside you during a fight, but for his purpose quite welcome. Hex has no ego or qualms about sharing the credit for the capture of any criminal. It's whether the person helps or hinders his cause that's his concern. He knows he's out of his normal bailiwick, though also confidant he can track any man in any situation. His requested presence in Gotham is no happenstance. His accomplished reputation has reverberated from the western territories, where his exploits are that of legend, to the far reaches of the eastern seaboard. In this instance it was the emphatic endorsement of the Reading Railroad that led to his employ. On more than one occasion he has recovered valuable property for them, thus saving the railroad undue cost and public embarrassment. They gladly provided the transport gratis to Gotham as a token of their gratitude. It was a restless ride however, consumed by thoughts of trepidation and doubt. Hex has never felt comfortable in the city, preferring to tender his wares alfresco. The snakes here have a decidedly different bite along different paths and have vantage points no amount of plateaus can replicate. He's confronted rabid animals before wild on whisky fueled by the devil's ire, but the madness here gives thought to any sane man. It's a brave new world alien to him, a psycho circus inhabited by freaks and clowns lurking in the shadows hell bent to hurt, a wicked dream frightfully come to life. Welcome to my nightmare.

It's evening now and Hex's walk to his hotel traverses a notably rough section of town. Besides street vendors hawking their wares and thrill seekers on the prowl, the streets are barren. Anyone with any sense would heed the cautions of the police and remain inside, but things are never that simple. Even under adverse circumstances, people display an impervious attitude towards crime, with the regrettable "Why me" epitomizing famous last words of the unfortunate victims. His own experience with killers has been straightforward. It was personal. Not the case here, where the victims appear to have been chosen at random, making the killer's identity and motive much harder to fathom. The murders all took place within three square miles, a critical factor to consider in a city of Gotham's size. The fateful precinct contains numerous night spots, indeed a significant aspect of it, brazenly flaunting clubs and saloons with a decadent bent compared to those Hex routinely encounters, with one in particular, the Polar Den, being notorious for its devious excess and sinful clientele. It may be the ideal place to start his search.

"**Doctor, are you familiar with the Polar Den?"**

"Interesting question, considering that's the place I alluded to earlier. How'd you hear of it?"

"**I heard talk. What do you know of it?"**

"It's a hot spot catering to the seedy element in town, which is ironic considering it's operated by the head of one of the leading families of Gotham."

"**Who might that be?"**

"Cobblepot, Oscar Cobblepot. The entire family is heavily involved in local politics, but not above filling their coffers from the pockets of criminals."

"**He sounds like just the man to see. Tell me more."**

"He's not an easy man to meet, despite always being at the club either attending to business or entertaining specific patrons. Despite its notoriety, the Polar Den is _the_ place where the pillars of Gotham society mingle with its trash and enjoy every shameful minute of it."

"**Nothing strange there Doctor. As far as Cobblepot goes, leave it to me. I will find him. What's he look like?"**

"He has markedly unique features, being considerably short and rotund, with a face only a mother could love. Apparently childhood classmates would taunt him endlessly about his appearance while also tagging him with an ungainly nickname that has stuck to this day. He's extremely sensitive about it. Rumor has it that some of those ill-tempered youths received their comeuppance tragically, and no one with any sense or a desire to remain healthy will dare utter it in his presence."

"**What the hell is this god forsaken name?"**

"The Walrus."

Hex has decided it would be in everyone's best interests to explore the Polar Den alone, a solitary, low profile approach enabling him to move about freely without attachments or distractions. The club's entrance is quite impressive, utilizing a frozen tundra motif with numerous polar bears, seals, and penguins strewn about adding further flavor. It's no shoddy operation by any means, exemplified by the use of security men inside and out, apparently to keep out the unwanted riff raff, whoever they may be. Once inside he discovers an interior as spacious and elegant as any five star hotel, marveling at the inspiration and insight involved in making it such a unique venue. Despite its abundant size it's still difficult to circulate considering the large throng in attendance. Discerning who's who is no mean feat, with his unfamiliarity with the local scofflaws putting him at a distinct disadvantage. The women here are magnificently dressed and exude a stylish sophistication rarely seen. Even the sartorial splendor of the men is notable, hindering the separation of the chaff from the wheat. The saloon girls equally stand out with their aptly attired penguin outfits. While appropriate for Gotham, Hex reflects on the oddity of the enterprise in comparison to his indigenous haunts, once again making him feel displaced. A quick look around reveals no one remotely fitting the description of Cobblepot. A man of his peculiar features would certainly stand out, plus he would be shadowed by his personal bodyguards. The drinks however are flowing freely, contributing to the festive atmosphere. Just as Hex is about to order one, a brief commotion flares between one of the security staff and a young woman, who appears to have been vigorously rebuked. While noticeably bothered, she turns, smiles, and seats herself at a far off table. At this point Hex, piqued by curiosity and tired of his own company, senses both an opening and an opportunity, as she just may be the one to confer for some inside info. Of course it doesn't hurt that she's beautiful as well.

"**Do you mind if I sit down?"**

"You sure you want to? I'm not the most popular girl in the joint."

"**I noticed. What was that about?"**

"The owner thinks I have something that belongs to him."

"**Do you?"**

"What business is that of yours, stranger?"

"**None. Just between you and me, I'm more interested in the owner than his damn property."**

"What's your interest in him?"

"**I'm hoping he can lead me to a man….a very bad man."**

"What are you, a cop? You're certainly not from around here."

"**Yes….and no. Any other questions?"**

"What do you want with Cobblepot?"

"**He seems to be a man who knows a lot of people…certain types of people. That kind of man can be very helpful to me."**

"Who are you looking for?"

"**A killer."**

"You are a cop. Aren't you out of your jurisdiction, sheriff?"

"**Does it matter?"**

"Cobblepot doesn't know anything. He's as edgy as everybody else. Whoever this clown is is someone all to himself playing his sick games, and probably having a good laugh while doing it."

"**Then it's time to shut this joker down, don't you think?" **

"Right now I have more personal concerns."

"**You did take something from Cobblepot. What was it?"**

"I'm sort of an animal lover. The item in dispute is a jade lynx."

"**They say possession is nine tenths of the law."**

"Tell that to him."

"**If he can't help me, the hell with him, though you might want to reconsider the company you keep."**

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"**You're an interesting woman, tough, sassy. Under different circumstances…. maybe we'll meet again."**

"I like you stranger. Now don't take offense, but that scar of yours. Anyone ever call you Two Face?"

"**I've been called worse. What do they call you?"**

"Due to my particular passion, some call me the Cat Lady. But to my friends, I'm just Sabrina…Sabrina Kyle."

Hex ponders his conversation with Miss Kyle. She's a thief, yet one undeterred by the likes of Cobblepot. Combine that with her intoxicating looks and feline wiles and the upshot is a woman not to be taken lightly. As for Cobblepot, he appears to be a dead end. While not productive directly, the evening wasn't a complete wash, as he's starting to get a feel for the town and the assorted animals that prowl within it. It's already living up to its disreputable standing, with a crooked cast of characters worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy. The pertinent question to Hex is what role he plays in this scenario, and how he can strike gold while doing so. Given the unrelated nature of the victims, the next avenue to explore is the toxin used in their deaths. Hex has encountered many kinds of drugs and herbs in his travels. The Wild West is notorious for plants and flowers capable of any manner of mind alteration or physical encumbrance. Under comparable conditions he would consult a shaman. While their presence in Gotham is unlikely, there should be similar practitioners like spiritualists, mediums, or horticulturists he could solicit for further info. One quick chat with Arkham has produced a name, Patricia Isley, a preeminent authority in the field of botany and an avowed environmentalist, a new principle to Hex, though one he appreciates in a big city. May she possess the answers he so urgently needs.

"**Miss Isley, thank you for seeing me."**

"Think nothing of it. Come in."

"**I understand the police have talked to you. What can you tell me?"**

"Let's start with the basics. There are few plants known to man that can actually cause death, nonetheless painful ones. Most produce a soporific effect that could induce a coma, but even those are scarce. Negotiating the dual problems of identification and acquisition is just the first step. There are countless books that contain this information. However in most cases, you still have to refine the plant into its concentrated form. Very few just require ingestion to produce the desired results. They're not potent enough. Large quantities would be needed, which is not only impractical but improbable. This demands specific training and equipment, thus narrowing the field of suspects dramatically. Ergo this is no common criminal you're dealing with, but one of rare intelligence and conviction. Either that or he has help."

"**You sound like a fan. Who might have this training or equipment you referred to?"**

"Well….there are only two people I know. Dr. Arkham…..and myself."

"**Interesting. What do you know of Arkham?"**

"He's a well meaning man, though haunted by personal demons. His grandfather and mother both suffered from madness, thus triggering a psychotic fear in him. This obsession has been transferred to his work, which is all consuming. I empathize."

"**I hear you're an environmentalist. For a simple country boy like me, what exactly is that?"**

"I believe in the preservation of the earth and all its flora. Unfortunately we are already inflicting damage by our profligate ways, and it's only getting worse. The industrial revolution with its belching smoke stacks and noxious waste was just the beginning. It's a radical problem requiring radical measures, and there are people willing to do precisely what's necessary to avenge those wronged."

"**You make it sound like they're people."**

"I feel their pain."

"**Sounds ominous. Are you one of these **_**radical **_**people?"**

"Perhaps."

"**I've been in Gotham one damn day and you're the second woman I've met full of piss and vinegar. What is it with this place, the water?"**

"The water, the air, the earth itself and what it gloriously bears."

"**Don't get me wrong, I'm a man of nature myself. All the same I know change is constant, much as I may dislike it. However using its darkness to further light is a path best forgotten." **

"We must all follow our hearts and damn the consequences. Let history be the ultimate arbiter of our actions."

"**I'm not sure how you fit in, but I would hate for us to end on opposite sides of the law."**

"A rose is a product of nature, beautiful, fragrant, symbolizing love and devotion, yet defended by gallant thorns. It's a striking example of nature protecting herself, though not nearly enough. It needs an advocate, an icon, forceful, unrelenting….Poison Ivy."

"**Be careful, Miss Isley. Prisons are filled with rebels with a cause."**

"My conscience is clear, Mr. Hex. Is yours?"

"**Our values are alike, though I have the law beside me. When you take matters into your own hands, consequences follow. You're an attractive woman. I'd hate for something bad to happen to you. Fight for what you believe in, but heed my words. If you're involved, I'll be back."**

"If that's what the fates intend, let the side of right prevail. Good day."

In the brief span of twelve hours, Hex has met two of the most dangerously provocative women of his life. While Miss Kyle's playful plundering appears to be confined strictly to Cobblepot, the same cannot be said for Isley. Her unease is vast and fiercely focused, with dire ramifications imminent. She's a forthright woman with a singular desire to see the world punished for its ecological sins. Though admittedly vindictive, it's difficult envisioning her as a killer, though the role of willing accomplice is possible. For that to happen, the victims would require some adverse relation to the environment. And what of Arkham? Were her disparaging remarks a way of deflecting attention, or is there substance to them? His family history and personal anguish is surely germane, plus his office is located near the murder scenes. Does he have a motive, though logic dictates madness requires none. For some promising answers Hex needs to speak with police commissioner Howard Bullock to see if they've uncovered new info on the victims. A ray of light shed on Arkham's mental stability would be welcome as well.

"**Mr. Bullock."**

"Ah Mr. Hex, please come in. You're just the man I want to see."

"**Anything new?"**

"More bad news I'm afraid. There's been another murder."

"**No."**

"It happened about two hours ago. Same area, same M.O., male in his early thirties. No visible marks or trauma. It appears to have been poison again. However on that we might have a lead. Let me introduce our pathologist Dr. Laura Thompkins."

"_Gentlemen, if you would follow me."_

"**Doctor, tell me about the poison."**

"_It took time but we've finally narrowed it down. It's not plant based as originally thought but more likely venom from a spider indigenous to this area. However it's not just venom alone but that combined with another element, nitrous oxide. It was the discovery of the N.O. that led to the breakthrough."_

"**How'd you come up with that?"**

"_We searched for it ourselves. You'll know what I mean when you see the last victim…..Take a look."_

"**All I see is the same damn scowl."**

"_That's what we thought at first. It's the most sound assumption. However let's view this from a different angle. Tell me Mr. Hex. Have you been to the dentist lately?"_

"**Yes, but what the hell does that have to do with anything?"**

"_Did he give you something to deaden the pain?"_

"**Laughing gas."**

"_Exactly. Now look closely at the mouth and the corner of the eyes. The effect on this one is more pronounced than the others, leading me to believe the killer has perfected his toxin. You see gentlemen, this is not a grimace. It's a smile." _

As if Gotham wasn't bleak enough, it now has a maniac murdering people with some sort of joker venom. Always leave 'em laughing as the comics say. Earlier Dr. Arkham commented on patterns. As a trained psychologist he should be familiar with one other aspect of human evaluation, profiles. What kind of man concocts killer cocktails just for laughs. Sabrina Kyle made reference to that effect, not knowing at the time how intuitive she was. Meanwhile Patricia Isley intimated someone well educated was involved. Why not Arkham himself, in league with a former patient perhaps. He would have quite the chuckle being enlisted to investigate his own transgressions. Though far from guilty, many signs point toward him, and if timing's everything, then it's time to turn the tables and test the good doctor's sense of humor. Let's see him keep a straight face now that Hex is in on the joke.

Arkham works at a sanitarium on the outskirts of town, a decrepit, morose locale inhabited by some of the sorriest souls in Gotham. It's a fearsome structure fraught with gothic figures and baroque architecture aptly befitting the Victorian Age. Alas madhouses are nothing new. These chambers of horror have existed throughout history, as there's been no shortage of forsaken wretches diagnosed as deranged. Of course proper treatment was sorely lacking and drug research limited, so little curing occurred. Arkham's interest in psychiatry stemmed from his grandfather's condition and escalated with his mother's. He quickly discovered a thankless profession comprised of long hours spent in vain attempts to help those well past salvage. It didn't help that his current facility is woefully antiquated and deficient in both equipment and trained staff. Consequently he's consumed by desires of establishing his own asylum equippedwith modern facilities and, more importantly, founded on progressive, compassionate care for the mentally ill. It boggles the mind to think incarceration and lobotomies are still primary components of therapy. The twentieth century is looming and it's well overdue to inter the Stone Age. Hex's plan is to examine records of Arkham's patients in the hopes of finding a name, any name, that may be connected to the murders. Of course they could be strictly the means to Arkham's mania, but complicit nonetheless. Commissioner Bullock set up a conference with Helene Quinzel, a young staff intern familiar with the flock. He wisely set up the meet after normal hours when Arkham would be away. Considering the context, it's fitting irony keeping the doctor in the dark. When in Rome…

"**Good evening."**

"Good evening to you, sir. Welcome to Bedlam."

"**What a hellish name. What's a pretty young woman like you doing here?"**

"It's my chosen profession and one I take seriously. We all need help at times."

"**Some more than others by the looks of it."**

"There are dark sides to life, Mr. Hex. You of all people know this."

"**I can touch the darkness I confront."**

"That's an appropriate metaphor considering some of these people might not be here if they had been touched as a child. A caress, an embrace….."

"**Many of us had rough childhoods. We didn't become burdens on society."**

"Everyone's not alike, and I don't view them as burdens. I view my calling as a blessing."

"**I appreciate your concern and don't mean to sound callous, but I'm tracking a killer and he may reside here."**

"That's yet to be determined."

"**Bullock said you could provide information on the patients, especially ones Arkham treated."**

"I know you're interested in the more violent ones. There is one in particular, a Vincent Zsasz, who committed numerous murders over a period of two years. The doctor has made him one of his top priorities."

"**How did he kill his victims?"**

"Many different ways, stabbing, garroting, bludgeoning. It was all quite gruesome."

"**Did he ever use any drug or poison?"**

"Not that I'm aware of."

"**The killer seems to enjoy a sadistic pleasure from these crimes, as if it's all one big joke. Does that remind you of anyone?"**

"Wow, you practically described John."

"**Who's John?"**

"John Napier, a former patient. He had a fiendish sense of humor, mostly in good fun though."

"**Mostly?"**

"His practical jokes could get mean. You didn't want to get on his bad side, that's for sure. But…..I liked him. There was a danger I found attractive, a walk on the wild side I suppose. He could be so intense. At one moment he'd be all laughs, and the next violently angry."

"**Weren't you afraid?"**

"With him, no. I understood him, brought out his humorous side. He liked being a joker and wanted me to play along, be his court jester, even to the point of wearing a silly costume. I wanted to please him…"

"**Why was he here?"**

"He was arrested on several occasions committing robberies while dressed as a, well, it's almost too silly to mention."

"**Go ahead. What was he dressed as?"**

"A clown."

Finally a name, John Napier, a career criminal with a sick sense of humor who enjoys parading as a clown. Plus he was personally attended by Arkham, who unexpectedly released him six weeks ago when other colleagues argued against it. It all fits. He was diagnosed as obsessive compulsive with paranoid delusions, making him unable to differentiate between right and wrong. While his past is void of premeditated violence, his disturbed personality concedes the possibility. He's not believed educated enough to concoct the toxin himself, though he read nature books and was considered a busybody, always eavesdropping on conversations between staff members and patients. His whereabouts are currently unknown, but considering the murders took place in a limited area, he's likely to be nearby. He was released legally so he's not wanted by the law, though with his background they have every right to question him. The big question to Hex is why'd Arkham release him against the advice of others, and what role he played in the making of the toxin. It's time for one last talk.

Despite spending most of his time at the sanitarium, Arkham does have a night life, often frequenting The Cave, a tiny tavern in the heart of the city. After a grueling day at the office, he would relax over a few drinks, an evening Hex can assuredly relate. The Cave certainly fits its shadowy appellation, being a dark, dingy joint yet possessing an eerie ambiance perversely appealing. According to reports the doctor is in attendance, it's just a matter of finding him amidst the refuse drowning their private sorrows. Psychiatry is a conflicted profession. If one deals with scarred minds long enough, will their's be next? Food for thought as Hex finally spies him in a corner booth fiddling with his glass. A modern day Nero while Gotham burns?"

"**Good evening Doctor. We need to talk."**

"I can't say I wasn't expecting you."

"**Anything you'd like to tell me?"**

"You know, the vocation of psychiatry is an uneasy one. The mind is a baffling creation. There are so few triumphs yet so many failures."

"**Excuses provide little solace when people die."**

"I'm not looking for absolution, compassion perhaps. If I knew at the time…."

"**What the hell was going on? Where's Napier?"**

"So you know about him. Our sessions were wide ranging, covering many topics. We would often engage in lengthy debatesabout religion, philosophy, good vs. evil, the meaning of life. Why we are here and what's our purpose? He was obviously searching for something."

"**We're all searching for something. It doesn't come at the expense of others."**

"When dealing with the mind, things are never simple. Your world is so black and white, but in mine there are shades of grey that govern the moral spectrum."

"**For me it's a matter of necessity. It's you guys in your white coats with your college degrees and damn apologies that make these bastards think what they're doing isn't wrong, and innocent people pay. I'm the one on the front lines in the grime and blood while you're here in your pristine labs. Well Doctor I don't buy it for one damn minute."**

"Our aim is not to apologize but to enlighten, and hopefully with that affect positive change in troubled minds. It is complex and to deny that just complicates matters further."

"**I've known you for only two days and already know what makes you tick. You reek from the stench of fear that is at the heart of this entire problem. While many regret the past, you're deathly afraid of the future. You're terrified you'll go mad like your family before you, an ironic fear for a man in your profession."**

"I'd be lying if I said it doesn't trouble me. I'm racing the clock to find a cure for something that may be incurable. It haunts my every waking moment. However unlike most people and their phobias, I have the means to alter mine, and I'm certainly going to try. My motive is just, however the method…."

"**What the hell have you been up to in that god forsaken place?"**

"Experiments. You talked about fear being at the heart of the matter, but along with that comes an even bigger problem, depression. Napier experienced severe depression endlessly, primarily out of boredom, which was the main catalyst for his behavior. Every method I tried produced no results, so I thought I'd try a different tactic. We have nitrous oxide at the hospital for dental purposes. It not only deadens pain but elevates the spirit. Why not use it in conjunction with another drug to see its effect. That was just the beginning."

"**Napier liked it."**

"He loved it."

"**Then one of you discovered the sicker side to these experiments, the smile pasted on someone's face. What was the other drug, Doctor?"**

"A form of curare, which accounts for the paralysis. I first noticed an effect on another patient. Napier wasn't the first I tried it on. A small smirk was affixed to his face constantly. At first I didn't think much of it, but when I noticed it the next day I knew there was cause for concern. The same thing happened to Napier. He noticed it himself, but was not only unmoved, he thought it hilarious. Things only got worse from there."

"**It twisted what little mind he had left."**

"He said as long as he had a constant smile on his face, he might as well have some laughs to go with it. He struck me and escaped out a window. I never did release him. I fabricated the story to avoid discovery of the experiments. They were unethical. I would have been ruined professionally."

"**So to save your sorry ass you let a madman loose on the streets, and even when you saw the bodies you didn't come forward."**

"That is something I will have to live with for the rest of my life."

"**Where is he now Doctor? Where is Napier?"**

"I'm not sure, but he may be in an abandoned amusement park near the intersection of Fox and Broome. He has gone utterly mad, to the point of wearing a ridiculous costume."

"**Let me guess. He's dressed as a clown."**

He has a name, John Napier, and now a location, an abandoned amusement park housing a killer clown. The mood is oppressive, a foreboding presence shrouded in darkness. How appropriate. The park itself appears to be deserted for years, with litter briskly blowing about by a bitter winter wind. No gates or barriers of any kind are present to deter drifters from making it their happy home, or in Napier's case, his happy hideout. Strangely enough the few rides on hand appear to be in working order, defying their prolonged disuse. It's odd picturing children running about enjoying the recreation in its current state. The main facade is comprised of various masks united in a macabre mosaic, fashioning the feel of a haunted house. Quite telling that someone would pick this place as their covert lair. Any sane person would race rapidly to the nearest exit.

Like other fateful situations Hex has entered, he promptly scans the surroundings, both the ground and above. It seems for now he is alone, along with his concealed prey perhaps. If he's here, he may have established safeguards to alert him of any trespassers, possibly already being aware of Hex's presence. No use delaying the inevitable. Step in to my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

"**Napier!"**

Silence.

"**Napier! Where the hell are you? I've come a long way to meet you."**

"….And who might you be?"

"**There you are. Well well…."**

"You have a lot of nerve coming here….alone. You're either a very brave man….or a very foolish one."

"**A bit of both, I'm afraid."**

"I don't take kindly to strangers, sheriff."

"**I don't take kindly to killers."**

"Such harsh words, and you still haven't introduced yourself. You have me at a disadvantage sir."

"**The name's Hex. I'm the truant officer."**

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"**No."**

"In my house, I make the jokes."

"**I heard you fancy yourself a comedian, but I don't find murder funny."**

"Murder can be a downright gas. Get it?"

"**The only punch line I'm interested in is the one right to your face." **

"Speaking of faces, whatever happened to yours? Anyone ever call you Two Face?"

"**Somebody already beat you to that one. You need new writers."**

"I'm quite capable of doing my own material, thank you very much. It's an art. It comes from within. I find inspiration wherever I go, whoever I meet."

"**The people you meet don't end so well."**

"Screw 'em if they can't take a joke."

"**It's not so funny when the joke's on you."**

"Oh but it is. They all die laughing."

"**Why? Just answer me. Why?"**

"Would you believe to avenge a loved one, for money, simply for a few laughs? Alas we're all just fodder for the gods. Life is cheap and the joke's on us."

"**It all depends on whose life you're talking about."**

"Shakespeare said it best. We're but actors on a stage, having our brief moment in the spotlight, when…..poof, you're gone. Understudy, next!"

"**Some of us are tired of being cast in the same damn role chasing bastards like you."**

"They say the villain is the juiciest role of all. Perhaps it's why I'm so attracted to it. I was made for the part."

"**You were made for a straightjacket."**

"Now now, just when we're becoming friends."

"**Guys like you, even at the end of a rope, the scales never balance. The pain you cause long outlives your cursed body."**

"We're all cursed. Call it kismet, call it original sin. I refuse to play along."

"**You think you can make your own rules?"**

"I may play the joker, but I'm no fool. I represent discord, conflict, chaos. The yin to your yang. Without me, you're nothing."

"**For a clown, you take yourself way too seriously."**

"I never take myself seriously. Where's the fun in that."

"**If it's fun you want, there's this place called Bedlam. The name says it all. But I forgot, you've already been there."**

"You know, I like you. You're in the presence of a killer and nary a flinch. You can take a joke and dish one out. But with that face of yours, you've probably been the butt of a lot of jokes."

"**That's the difference between you and me. I didn't go crying to some shrink the first time life threw me a lemon. Arkham said you've been crying your whole life. Now what would your momma say?"**

"Now that was below the belt. I'm not sure I do like you."

"**Typical bully. Once you push back, they run and hide."**

"You'd be surprised how I can push."

"**Playtime's over, Napier. Let's go."**

"We'll see who gets the last laugh."

At that moment Napier rushes out the rear of the building with Hex in close pursuit. Adjacent to the park is a tiny walkway traversing a body of water, reeking of filth and raw sewage. Beyond that is a grove a trees that, once within, will be difficult to locate anyone. The only way to the trees is across the walkway. It's a narrow, dilapidated passage, with one fatal misstep and it's a long drop down to a watery grave. Napier is reckless, finding the chase amusing. He doesn't seem aware of the gravity of his surroundings, thoughtlessly jumping hither and fro over the wide cracks in the walkway. Hex may be fearless, but he's not rash, carefully choosing a secure path void of risks. The shrill creeks of the boards elicit chills. It's utter lunacy just being on them. Napier continues to show complete disregard for his safety, straddling the side of the walkway to avoid missing boards. One slight slip.…..one slight slip…...and it happens. His balance is lost while losing contact with the railing. Hex is too far away to do anything but stare at the hapless joker. Strangely enough, no fear is shown. Instead a quiet smile steadily appears, followed by a reverberating, raucous laughter as he further plummets down toward the stygian darkness. Looks like he did get the last laugh, the poor fool.

Hex reflects on his experience in Gotham, a curious odyssey defined by its peculiar environment. It truly is a unique city provoking unique problems, crime being one of them. He doesn't envy its lawmen. The town is too dark, too fearsome, thus creating a different class of criminal, Napier being the first of its kind. Traditional enforcement techniques may not be enough. It may require someone outside the law, outside the normal restrictions of statutes and permissive courts. Someone just as dark and fearsome to combat its sordid elements, a clandestine force on the side of justice. Not a sheriff, not a cop, but an outsider, a vigilante, one answerable only to himself and his moral conscious. Someone whose identity remains secret, a masked avenger of the night, cloaked in costume, one serving the dual purpose of concealment while striking fear in the hearts of the superstitious and cowardly. Will this city birth such a man? Only time will tell.


End file.
